


Trust

by heeroluva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Clothing Kink, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, First Time, Gloves, Hands Free Orgasm, Leather Kink, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Non-Penetrative Sex, Sensation Play, slight Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's nipple are pierced. When Sherlock finds out why and take advantage, John definitely isn't complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dame-thora-hird](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dame-thora-hird).



> Deep Heat is the UK's version of IcyHot.

“Your nipples are pierced,” Sherlock announced out of the blue one evening over dinner.

“W-what?” John stammered, glancing down at his jumper covered chest.

Sherlock smirked at the tell. “Don’t bother denying it.”

“How could you possibly…”

“You were obviously hiding something. You aren’t ashamed of your body nor your scars as you have had no problems showing it to me. However, you are very careful to not show me your chest. And you wear those hideous shapeless jumpers all the time around the flat. The question is, why hide it? Why go to so much trouble… unless…” Sherlock fixed John with a sharp look, noting the flush of his cheeks, the way he wouldn’t meet his eyes, the white knuckled clench of his fist around the fork. Sherlock’s eyebrows rose. Well that was interesting. “Really, John?”

John’s eyes rose and met his steadily, daring him to say something, daring him to tease. “Indeed.”

“Oh.” Sherlock glanced towards his bedroom wondering if there were any experiments on his bed that he didn’t mind destroying, but thought better of it. John had a perfectly useable room where they were less likely to accidentally inure themselves or ruin his work. “Would you care too…?”

John dropped his forked with a clattered on his plate, and stood, shoving his chair back rapidly. “Oh god, yes.”

 

John was hazy as to how they’d gotten up to his room, one kiss turning into two, turning into a dozen (they were lucky they hadn’t broken their necks on the stairs), and even more so how he’d ended up in his current position completely naked, while Sherlock was still fully clothed. John tried to reach for the buttons of his shirt, but Sherlock’s hands were suddenly around his wrists, forcing him back against the bed, pushing his hands above his head onto the sheets. He struggled briefly, wanting, no, needing to touch.

Sherlock’s words still him instantly.

“Shall I tie you up?”

Yes! a part of him instantly screamed, but another part of him was hesitant. It was a lot of trust for a first time. But this was Sherlock, and from their first meeting, John couldn’t help but be drawn to him, to trust him. “Yes,” he answered simply. The word slipped out, but John wouldn’t take it back.

Sherlock appeared almost started by the answer before his face contorted with desire. He moved away, rummaging through John’s closest before returning with two ties. Of course, Sherlock knew the contents of John’s closet. As Sherlock sat on the bed next to him, John offered him wrist, shivering as the cloth was tied securely around it.

Sherlock tugged his arm back, fastening the other end of the tie to the headboard. “Test it,” Sherlock ordered. “I don’t want to put too much strain on your shoulder. You’re already not doing your physical therapy as you should be, and it would be such a shame to damage you when we’ve only just begun.”

John ignored the bard, an old argument, and tugged at it, noting how it was neither too loose nor too tight, how it didn’t slide tighter as he strained. There was enough slack that his arm could rest in a comfortable position without fear of damage. “Good,” John said. Get on with it, he implied.

Sherlock made quick work of his other wrist, and John was left spread out and bare for Sherlock’s viewing pleasure.

John should have felt exposed.

He didn’t.

Sherlock finger hooked under the chain of John’s dog tags, running his finger along the length, examining the tags. “You still wear them. Why?”

“Habit. I’ve worn them for years. I feel naked without them,” John replied.

Sherlock looked at them thoughtfully. “If you say ‘dog tags’, we stop.”

John swallowed past his suddenly dry throat, having not expected things to be so serious. Leave it to Sherlock to be thorough though. “Understood.”

Sherlock let the tags slide from his fingers to fall back to rest on John’s chest. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, the ones he normal wore during cases, watching John’s reaction as he slipped them on. There was just a sliver of pale skin visible between them and his purple shirt cuff, the same shirt that made Sherlock look like sex walking and that John admired whenever he wore it. The deep breath and jump of the pulse in John’s neck told Sherlock that he’d chosen right.

Dropping his head, Sherlock brushed his lips against John’s, pulling back when John tried for more, placing his hand in the middle of John’s chest, feeling the heat seep through the leather of Sherlock’s glove as he held him in place, preventing John from arching up after him. Sherlock did it again and again, leaning down for a kiss, offering a little more each time, always pulling back when John sought for more, until John finally learned his lesson and was content to relax and let Sherlock have control and lead, taking only what he was given and no more.

Good boy. Sherlock grinned wryly as John moaned in protest when he finally pulled away completely, but didn’t try to follow him, instead panting and watching with passion darkened eyes as Sherlock’s attention shifted.

Sherlock moved his focus towards the instigator of this situation: John’s nipple piercings. Two, Sherlock had guessed as John never did anything half way, and two, he was correct: two shiny silver hoops that were set deep and horizontally bisected John’s pebbled nipples. He lightly nudged one with a gloved finger, noting the way that John suddenly tensed and how John’s purposely neglected cock began to leak against his belly. “You’re very sensitive,” Sherlock stated.

“Yes,” John said, the word drawn out into a hiss as Sherlock hooked the tip of his finger in one of the rings and applied the slightest bit of tension. “More so now since I’ve had the piercings done.”

Sherlock tugged harder, enjoying the look of the stretched flesh, pleased by John’s squirming and his sharp intakes of breath. The colors of the glove and John’s skin such an inviting contrast. John was so responsive, so very lovely. Sherlock licked his gloved thumb and index finger on the hand that wasn’t already occupied and promptly plucked at John’s other nipple before leaning down and blowing on the now damp flush. Sherlock smiled at the full body shiver he received in response. “Can you achieve orgasm from nipple stimulation alone?” Sherlock asked as he dropped his head to John’s chest, licking at the wet nub and tugging at the metal hoop with his teeth.

“Sherlock,” John pleaded with a groaned, body tense and needy.

Sherlock nipped at the pert flesh sharply, causing John to yelp and jerk beneath him. “I expect an answer, John.”

John’s voice was unsteady and thick as he answered, “I-I’m not sure. Likely. I’ve never had the patience to test it.”

Raising his head, Sherlock’s locked John with his stare, his smile sharp and predatory. “I’ll take that challenge.”

John’s eyes dilated rapidly, the blue barely visible around the inky darkness of his pupil. There was a small amount of fear there, some disbelief, but there was no shortage of lust. John was interested. Very interested. And not about to back down from the challenge.

Some unidentified time later, John wasn’t so sure he made the right decision, panting, trembling, and sweating so much that Sherlock had paused to make him drink. Sherlock was creative. Fingers, mouths, lips, teeth, and tongue weren’t enough. John should have known. The ice hadn’t been a shock. The Deep Heat had been, and he hadn’t been able to stop the shout and string of whines that it wrenched from his throat.

Sherlock seemed to enjoy the sounds he made, doing his best to encourage more of them. John’s cock was so hard it ached and his bollocks were so full and heavy he’d be afraid of permanent damage if he wasn’t a doctor and knew the possibility of that in the given situation was nil. Not that he was thinking much like a doctor at that moment as he teetered right on the brink of orgasm, a placed that he’d brought to again and again and again, held at for an eternity and unable to get that last little nudge he needed to push him over.

John actually whimpered as Sherlock’s hand and mouth lifted from his nipples, leaving him bereft. His eyes were riveted to his black leather encased hands. The peak of pale skin between them and Sherlock’s cuffs shouldn’t have been as enticing as it was, but given Sherlock’s fully dressed state, it was a temptation he couldn’t resist. John couldn’t begin to imagine what Sherlock would try next. With rapt attention, he watched as Sherlock’s hands rose to the fastening of his trousers, not bothering to take them off completely, just pulling his cock out of the front of his pants. Finally confronted by the proof of Sherlock’s desire, John wanted to taste it, desperately wanted to touch him. John watched captivated as Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around his cock; the sight making John yearn to touch him more than ever, but his bonds prevented that.

John looked up to catch Sherlock’s eyes watching him, locked on his face, watching his reaction. As Sherlock’s face twisted with pleasure, John dropped his eyes again to see Sherlock’s hand where it had begun to move along his cock, sure hard strokes that caused the leather to drag against reddening flesh, the sensitive skin protesting the friction and lack of lubricant. A distant part of John’s brain noted that Sherlock liked a little pain with his pleasure. One stroke, and two, a half dozen more, and Sherlock was coming, jerking off across John’s chest as he kneeled beside him. At the sight John knew he was finished. As the liquid landed across his chest and hit his tormented nipples, swollen, and hot, and overworked, that was all it took. John was coming seconds later, shouting his pleasure to the world, the force of it, so great that he blacked out.

When John came to again it was to the sound of laptop keys near his head. John groggily blinked over at Sherlock who sat against the headboard, long legs stretched out and computer on his lap. John blinked again, struggling to pull his scattered brain cells back together as he sat up, note that Sherlock had cleaned him up at some point.

“Awake, I see,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his keyboard. “I expected you to sleep at least another hour. You lasted longer than I anticipated. We’ll have to try for better next time.”

John blinked rapidly, trying to compose his thoughts. “Next time?” he finally asked weakly. He wasn’t sure he could survive that again.

Sherlock finally looked at him, giving John his are-you-really-that-stupid look. “Of course there will be a next time. You didn’t expect this to be a one off, did you?” A moment of uncertainty flashed across Sherlock’s face. “Unless you would—”

John surged forward and kissed him, ignoring the thud and clatter of the laptop (it was likely his anyway) as it slid off Sherlock’s lap and hit the floor.

Sherlock’s thumb brushed against one of his abused nipples, and John yelped against his mouth, pulling back as he felt Sherlock smirk against his lips. The sudden flash of pain brought everything into startling focus. And for a split second, John had his own moment of insecurity as he realized he had no idea what this was about, what they were doing. He didn’t have relationships like this. Normally there were dates, lots of dates. There was usually lots of snogging too (not that there was a lack of snogging with Sherlock… he certainly wouldn’t be adverse to more, but…). “What is—What are we—”

Leaning forward Sherlock’s lips met his own, so light, barely touching. There was a twinkle in his eyes, a knowing look. “Stop thinking.”

Of course, Sherlock, who said most people didn’t think enough, and never about the right things would tell him to stop.

“Stop,” Sherlock repeated again softly, an unmistakable order, his hand wrapping around John’s dog tags, pulling him close.

And trusting him, John complied.


End file.
